


Carrying the Banner

by ceitean



Category: Newsflesh Trilogy - Mira Grant
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-22
Updated: 2011-12-22
Packaged: 2017-10-27 21:23:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/300179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ceitean/pseuds/ceitean
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Masons take a trip to the museum.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Carrying the Banner

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Dira Sudis (dsudis)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dsudis/gifts).



FROM THE UNPUBLISHED FILES OF GEORGIA MASON

 

I knew I wanted to be a Newsie since I was 12 years old. Shaun likes to tell people that instead of screaming when I was born, I started asking the doctor scathing questions about just how many babies he's hit in his life and did he think he could get away with that kind of behavior in the eyes of the public? 

But the truth is, I wasn't too fond of reporters when I was really young. Thanks to my parents, my life has always been a media circus and though I grew up used to having every milestone of my life documented for everyone in the world to see, I had no particular love for the reporters that wouldn't stay out of my space. Particularly not the ones who brought along cameras with industrial strength flashes that could leave me with migraines for days. You want to talk about stressful and ruined birthdays? Have I got stories to tell you. 

So no, I wasn't too thrilled with most of the reporters of my acquaintance. For a long time, they were just an annoyance that had to be dealt with. Shaun didn't mind them so much, so I learned to let him do the talking and kept my distance. Back then, I really didn't want anything to do with them.

So what changed? It wasn't a reporter who made me change my mind about my future profession. It wasn't a blog that made me rethink what the news could be if done  right . It wasn't the example of my parents, with their constant mugging and preening for the cameras, who showed me how much power a properly told story can hold.

It was a trip to the museum.

Shaun and I were twelve years old and starting to get mutinous under the 'loving care' of our adoptive parents. Well, Shaun was getting mutinous. I was starting to retreat into an emotional shell that no one but Shaun could get through. It got easier when we were older, but those years were rough. It's hard for a kid to fully accept that your parents don't love you, even if you maybe knew it all along. 

The Masons began to see the cracks forming in our little family. So what was their response? More family outings. With the appropriate media exposure, of course. 

***

"I wish you'd worn your contacts, Georgia, " Mom said for the third time. I could see faint frown lines around her eyes in the rear view mirror. "You look so pretty with them on."

I liked my sunglasses. I could roll my eyes at her and she'd never know. "I told you, I forgot to put them in." 

Mom tsk'ed at me. From the passenger seat Dad said, "Now, Georgia, little girls shouldn't look like security thugs if they can help it."

Shaun leaned over to bump shoulders with me. "I think you look like an awesome security thug." I grinned at him. 

We were riding in Mom's armored van. The four of us made the perfect picture of a young suburban family going out to spend time together - or we would have if you ignored the stocked guns, ammo, food, and other assorted survival gear packed in the back. Whatever can be said about Mom, you can't deny that she knows her trade. It comes from being one of the top Irwins in her field.

"There might be camera people at the museum today, " Dad said casually. Translation - there would definitely be camera people there because one of them had called ahead to tell them where we were going. It had taken me an embarrassingly long time to figure that trick out. 

"Joyous day," I muttered. Shaun snorted.

"Don't be like that, kids. You know how important it is to get your picture out there," said Dad. There was the slightest note of warning in his voice. Not something you'd pick up on unless you knew the mild mannered professor well.

"We know " Shaun said brightly. "It's good to show people that leaving their homes for more than a half hour is good for them. Not like you can get the virus from fresh air!"

"Exactly," Dad said, satisfied.

As soon as their attention was back on the road, Shaun stuck a finger down his mouth and made silent gagging gestures. I hid a smirk.

Most kids our age didn't go on family outings. At all. Their parents preferred to keep the kiddies inside to lower their exposure risks. On the one hand, I sort of pitied them for being locked up all the time. Even I could tell people tended to get weird when they grow up without a lot of outside contact. Sometimes I wonder if those parents are doing my classmates more harm than good by smothering them so much.

On the other hand, it might have been nice to have parents that cared more for my safety than the high ratings inadvisable trips with minors could bring to their blogs.  


I looked out the window as we finally pulled up to a great white building with a bunch of columns out front. The Matthew Dorline Memorial Museum of the Rising. Or, as it's most commonly known as, the Rising Museum. 

There are a millions of Rising Memorials all over the world. Every country, state, and town had something to grieve, something to remember. But the Rising Museum was different. It wasn't focused on any specific tragedy. It's purpose was to document the catalysts of the Rising, the behind the scenes events that would ultimately tear up the world and change it forever.

I didn't know that at the time. I just knew it as the Rising Museum and thought it was pretty pointless - what else was there to know about the Rising that every school child didn't already know? What was the point of a building to make you remember things when you couldn't forget it anyway?

"Here we are!" Mom said as we pulled up to the nearly empty parking lot. As soon as the van stopped moving, Shaun threw open the door and bounded outside. He was strangely excited for the trip. I think he may have even been hoping they had a zombie caged up in the museum he could poke at. I followed him out more slowly, wincing a bit as some of the bright morning light made it past my sunglasses. 

"Taking the tykes for an educational trip this time, eh, Michael?" a voice called out to us, followed immediately by the blinding flash of a camera.

Dad chuckled. "You know it," he said, and threw his arm around my shoulders so we could pose for the cameras.

My family has always been a story maker. Maybe not for headlines, but short pieces about our 'family outings' in a world still crawling with zombies were usually good enough for an article or two. I knew because Dad tracked articles about the family religiously. Whenever our parents' ratings started to slip, Mom would announce that we hadn't gone out in far too long and then do something outrageous like take us to the zoo.

I hated the zoo.

But this little trip Dad's idea. With Mom everything was either highly physical or a perfect photo opportunity. Dad was more sedate in his trip selections, more interested in historic sites or controversial areas. He'd probably have some sort of wise or insightful article ready to go right after we left the museum - How The Past Dies and Lives With Us, or something like that.

Me, I was just glad I didn't have to drag myself near a cage of monkeys that could attack or undergo amplification at any time. Zoos are death traps and there's more than one reason why I support Mason's Law.

Still, a story was a story, and where the Masons were doing crazy things with their underage children, there were bound to be paps and reporters looking for even the smallest scoop.

Luckily a museum visit didn't rate too high on the exciting scale, so there were only a couple of reporters with one lone photographer. If Mom was disappointed, and I knew she always was whenever our escapades didn't get a big turnout, she didn't let it show. We stayed outside for a few minutes while mom flashed her dimples for the camera every chance she got and Dad stood there looking amused and scholarly.

One of the reporters rounded on me. "Georgia! I bet you like museums just like your old dad, eh? Do you plan on growing up and becoming a professor like him?"

Dad squeezed my shoulders lightly. "Who knows with kids these days? But whatever our Georgia plans to do with her life, her mother and I will support her one hundred percent." I pasted a smile on my face and said nothing. I didn't like giving the paps soundbites if I could help it. I always sounded stupid and I didn't like it when Mom or Dad pushed me to talk.

After a few more mindless questions and fake answers, we finally made it past the few paps to the front door. I had even managed to miss most of the blinding camera flashes. There were more blood tests waiting for us with their familiar sting and flashing lights. Then we were in.

***

The entrance of the museum was huge, the ceiling stretching high above us. The paps didn't follow us inside for once, so we were the only ones in the echoing hall. Their desire for a story wasn't strong enough to make them pay the entrance fee. Something in me sneered at that. I'd gotten even less accepting of the paps in the last year or so. Dad said it wasn't good for a little girl to be so cynical. I figure I've got reason.

Shaun practically bounced on his toes. "So where's the stuff? Can we go now?"

Mom smiled and handed me a courtesy map of the place. "Don't get lost." Of course - now that the media was out of sight, there was no need to have the kids underfoot.

That was just fine with us.

My brother grabbed my wrist and off we went.

***

Shaun lost his enthusiasm for the place pretty quickly once it dawned on him that 1) he wasn't allowed to touch any of the exhibits we saw and 2) no, the museum did not keep any caged zombies at hand.

But while Shaun was sulking and dragging his feet, I found that I actually liked the museum. A lot of it was stuff I already knew - like how the Kellis flu cure and Marburg Amberlee combined to make the dead rise in the summer of 2014. Basic stuff that everyone in the world knows by now. But there were a lot of things I read on those little plaques that I hadn't known. Bits and pieces of history that hadn't made it into the standard curriculum that I found fascinating.

"This is so lame," Shaun sulked. He's really good at sulking - he always puts his full effort into it.

I ignored him and he wandered off while I was engrossed with reading all the little plaques and info stations. Some time later I heard his voice echoing from another hall.

"Hey, George, check this out!"

I looked up from the plaque I was reading ("The 'Mayday Army' as they called themselves broke into Kellis' lab on June 12th - "). Shaun had sounded excited. Maybe he did find his zombies after all. Steeling myself to drag my brother away from any exhibit that may be moaning, I followed the direction of Shaun's voice to a large, open area of the museum.

"Is this what I think it is?" he asked in a hushed voice when I reached him. I turned to see what he was looking at.

Turned out Shaun hadn't found any zombies. He had found the Wall.

The Wall was legendary. It was a virtual memorial to every blogger who died during and after the Rising, trying to figure out the truth. If they were infected, the bloggers would write their last entry to spread more precious information - don't touch the saliva, don't touch the blood, machetes are a bad idea, this area is overrun, this area is safe. Their names and last entries would go up on the Wall for everyone to see and remember.

But the Wall existed online. It wasn't a physical thing, it was just a collection of data somewhere on the internet.

Or so I thought.

The Wall in front of me was huge and the words written on it were in constant motion. Some kind of projector was cycling through all the entries - all of the people who died to get the truth out. There were so many names all jumbled together, so many dates from 2014. There were pictures, too, that flashed on the Wall every few seconds. Some entries were long, rambling things. Some were short, simple messages saying 'I love you' and 'goodbye.'

We stood there for a long time and never once saw a repeated entry. After a while I touched Shaun's arm and we left, leaving the dead on their Wall.

***

"Hello, what's that?" Shaun said a little later as we explored the rest of the exhibits. He was getting antsy again and I was starting to worry that if he didn't get some sort of distraction soon we'd be dealing with some damaged property and a few very angry security guards.

He pointed to a curtained off hallway that was pointedly not lit up like any of the other exhibits. The banner above the roped entrance read: _Images May Disturb You: The Role Of Corporate Media During The Rising_. "What d'you think is behind there?"

"Don't even think about it," I said.

He grinned, and then, before I could catch him, he slipped behind the ropped off curtain.

"Shaun!" I hissed. I looked around frantically to see if anyone had noticed, but there was hardly anyone at all in that area of the museum besides us. Inching forward, I poked my head behind the heavy, draped fabric. It wasn't completely dark back there - I could see what looked like a number of turned on tv screens and more of the standard info stations. " _Shaun_! What are doing -"

A hand shot out of the near dark and dragged me all the way behind the curtain and into the new hallway.

"Shh," Shaun whispered. "It's just another exhibit. Wonder why they closed it down?"

"Maybe it's not finished yet," I said, but even as the words left my mouth I didn't believe them. Not all the overhead lights were on in this hallway, but it wasn't so dark that I couldn't see a pretty polished looking exhibit with lots of muted tv screens showing what looked like half a dozen different news reporters. All of them were smiling, laughing and chatting. All of the dates at the bottom of the screen read July 2014.

I may be more cautious than Shaun (though God knows, that's not hard), but I've always had a more than healthy sense of curiosity. As I drifted closer to the screens, I forgot we weren't supposed to be back there. As soon as I stepped within two feet of the flickering images, the sound turned on.

" _...and I wish to assure you that it is nothing more than a nasty pair of summer flus. Please do not listen to reports from unreliable sources. Stick with the news outlets that have served you well, and remember, we're here to make sure you know the_ real _story_."

Every screen I approached said something similar, over and over again. My horror grew as I walked down the twisting line of recorded news reports and realized what those reporters were talking about, what the dates on the bottom scrolls meant. This was...this was what they _told people_ during the Rising?

The last screen at the end of the hallway flickered on as Shaun and I approached. Instead of a smiling news anchor, the person on the screen was a haggered, middle aged man sitting in a pink room. He wore a lab coat that looked like it had seen better days and his eyes were exhausted, but direct. His name was Doctor Ian Matras, the man who some say was responsible for humanity's survival during the Rising.

" _The news has been lying to you_."

"What are you doing in here?"

I jumped about a foot in the air. Shaun whirled around to stand in front of me, but what he thought a twelve year old boy could do against hired security I have no idea.

Luckily, it wasn't a security guard.

"You're not supposed to be back here, this is exhbit has been closed off," the man said with a frown. He was short and slim, and his name tag read _Will_. Some kind of assistant curator, probably.

"Sorry, sir," Shaun said, switching gears instantly. "My sister and I just got lost - we don't know where we are. Could you help us?" My brother has had a lot of practice in talking his way out of trouble and he's very good at it. At least one of us had to be charming, I suppose.

The man frowned, taking in our ages, then sighed. "Fine. Come with me, we'll find your parents." He and Shaun started to walk back down the twisting hallway toward the exit.

"Why's the exhibit closed?"

The man stopped and looked back at me. I hadn't followed him. Shaun was sending me looks that asked, _what are you doing?_ I ignored it.

"Pardon?"

"The exhibit. Why did you close it?"

"There've been some legal issues surrounding parts of the exhibit, so we've closed it off for the time being. Now, if you'll just follow -"

"You mean it's illegal to show this stuff?"

The man sighed once more, losing patience. "No, but some of the media corporations have raised a suit against us for showing this footage. You can ask your parents to explain it to you when you find them." He gave me a pointed look and I caved. We followed him back out to the museum.

***

We found a bench near the Wall to sit on while we waited for Mom and Dad, where ever they were. Shaun was eyeing me a little nervously as I glared at the floor.

"Uh, George?"

"It's not right," I snapped.

"...okay. What's not right?"

I threw an arm back in the direction of the closed exhibit. "That. Those people on the news - they were lying and they _knew_ it, they had to know it. But they kept lying to people, telling 'em it was the _flu_ or a _prank_ or a _misunderstanding_. How many people died because of that? They might as well have killed 'em themselves."

"Uh," said Shaun, but I wasn't done.

"And did you see that stuff about Stalnaker?" Shaun's face was blank. "The guy, the one who wrote the article about the Kellis flu. That was lying, too. If he hadn't done that, the Mayday army wouldn't have gone after the lab-"

"George-"

"-and if they hadn't broken into the lab, the virus would never have gotten airborn-"

"George!"

"And now those news people are trying to erase what they did, like it never happened! They're lying _again_ -"

At some point I had stood up and started pacing. I was upset. I didn't even know _why_ I was so upset, only that I was. I've never been one for overly emotional reactions, but something about what I had seen that day shifted something vital inside me. I was incredulous. I was upset. I was angry.

Then suddenly the energy that had had me pacing flooded out of me and all I felt was tired. I collapsed back down on the bench with my head resting on my hands. I could feel another migraine building behind my eyes. "Doesn't anyone ever tell the truth?"

"I don't know, George," Shaun said, his voice quiet. He nodded in the direction of the Wall. "But I think maybe they did."

Slowly, I lifted my head and stared at the Wall.

And it dawned on me that Shaun was right. On that Wall, between the names and dates and the last reports and the bittersweet goodbyes, was more truth than probably existed in all the hours of media footage taken during the Rising. Uncut, unpolished, but still there. For every smiling, plastic anchorwoman there were twenty bloggers getting the word out, helping people to survive. Doctor Matras wasn't the only savior in the Rising, not by a long shot. The Wall was a testament for truth, a defense against chaos and death. A morbid, humbling testament, but somehow profound just the same.

And so we sat there staring at the Wall until I calmed down and the Masons finally came to collect us. We went home, the perfect facade of a post-Rising family, and I spent the time thinking about truth and lies and consequences. Heady stuff for a twelve year old, certainly, but one thought kept repeating itself in my mind. One thought was clear.

The lies had to stop. Even if I had to tear them down myself.

***

Though my interests don't generally lie in history, I never forgot what I saw in that museum. Because history, like the news, can be a testament to truth. I respect that. But even history can be spun and distorted, the uncomfortable parts of it glossed over or erased. And there is always someone out there who wants to hide the truth.

Lies can't help you. Even sweet lies only do harm in the end. I am sick to death of all the lies. All I want is the truth.

And the truth? Is what you'll get from _me_. That's a promise.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> 1) Some quotes have been lifted DIRECTLY from Mira Grant's _Countdown_. All such parts are in italicized quotation marks. They are not my words, but they're a huge part of the worldbuilding in this verse, so I used them as a museum exhibit. Let me repeat - not my words. I make no claim to them. If you want to read _Countdown_ , you can find it at Mira Grant's LJ, seanan-mcguire.livejournal.com. :)
> 
> 2) Title comes from the musical _Newsies_. Fun fact - somehow while reading the first two books, I had failed to make the connection that Grant's 'Newsies' were named after said musical, even after listening to the soundtrack on my ipod. Oops.


End file.
